


Take Your Protein Pills

by retrojupiter



Series: Interludes [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: ALSO also din name ur kid pls, Hurt/Comfort, Mando'a Language (Star Wars), No beta we die like mne, Sickfic, also this is my first fic so i literally do not know how to tag, look din is kind of a bad dad but hes trying his best
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:20:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26893576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/retrojupiter/pseuds/retrojupiter
Summary: Underneath all that beskar, Din was a human person thank you very much.And like anyone, he gets sick sometimes.
Relationships: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Series: Interludes [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2007094
Comments: 30
Kudos: 139





	1. I'm Stepping Through the Door

Din shifted uncomfortably, cloak flapping in the wind. The stone roof he was lying on allowed him no comfort in position, and his arms while holding his rifle, had gone numb hours ago.

This job was an easy one, just to track down a local arms dealer, but the target had a fob-blocking device that meant Din had had to track them down the old-fashioned way – going through acquaintances and a lot of waiting around. He’d been watching the latest contact laugh and drink with his friends since noon, silently perched on the building opposite the tavern. If he had to listen to the merchant make one more joke about a certain weapon making him popular with women, he was going to storm in there and shoot the stupid smirk off his face, ‘bring him in warm’ instructions be dammed. All he needed was that man to lead him to his supplier, then he could knock the pair of them out and finally be on his way to the Crest back to the kid. _Osik_ , the kid. Din winced under the helmet. The kid was clingy at the best of times but after leaving him for seven hours from noon till nightfall definitely wouldn't have gone over well.

A yawn crept over his face, so wide his jaw cracked. Not much longer – the bartender looked about to shoot them too. The merchant and his friends were on the dregs of their drinks, sloshing droplets on the table. Good – they were standing unsteadily now, their heat images wobbly even through the wall. Din crouched a little more stealthily now, hidden by the ridge of the roof except for the tip of his Amban rifle peeking over. The men were coming out of the tavern now, talking loudly, easy to track.

Once they had walked a decent distance away from the tavern, Din climbed silently down the side of his roof, and started trailing them, melting into the shadows. Admittedly not his strongest skill – usually the beskar armour attracted far too many stares for him to be particularly stealthy, but under the cover of night, his training kicked in and his footsteps were mostly silent. The merchant he was tracking split off from his friends after around ten minutes of walking and continued down toward the residential distract toward the bottom of town, swaying slightly as he walked. Finally (Din sighed with relief a little at this point), he stopped at one of the low standing houses, unlocked the door, and slipped inside.

Din walked up to the front of the house, sizing up entry points, locating weaknesses. Walking round the house, he found a ladder just like the one he had used to get to his vantage point earlier, leading to a roof with an access hatch on it. Perfect. He tested the hatch slightly, feeling that it was locked in the inside. So, the stealthy approach was out in this route. Or _actually_...

Din slid his vibro-blade out of the sheath on his calf and into the gap between the hatch and the roof Slowly, carefully, he slid it around the side opposite the hinges until he felt the lock mechanism. He flicked the power on and slowly cut through the lock, tensing whenever it screeched under the vibration, until he couldn’t feel anymore resistance. Then, slowly (always slowly), he creeped up the hatch and slid into the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey yall, hope you enjoyed. Feedback/critiscm/random screaming is welcomed, especially as this is my first fic. (If anyone knows how you make text italic on this site i would be eternally grateful to know)
> 
> \- Esher (they/them)  
> Mando'a Translations:  
> Osik: Shit, offensive


	2. And I'm Floating in a Most Peculiar Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din goes back to the kid.

Dropping down silently, Din crouched low to the floor of the room he had broken into. An attic, his head supplied. It was oddly hot in the house, and he could feel the stuffiness even through the cooling systems in his armour. It was small and filled with files, but he could see a set of stairs in the corner that would hopefully lead him to the rest of the house. Switching over to the thermal imaging on his helmet, he could see a lying down body in a room down and to the left from him – presumably the target. Sweeping a glance through the rest of the house, Din couldn’t see anyone else that could be a threat. 

Now, he still hadn't decided whether to call it a night and go back to the kid or not. If he left the target here and didn’t interrogate him now, he could be back to the kid to have some food and some sleep. But the target might leave, and Din would be right back where he started. Or, he could get the _shabuir_ now, and be sure of his information. But the target might raise the alarm and then Din would be out all night. No sleep, no food, and he would be a more terrible _buir_ than he already was. Din sighed. The guy had been plastered when he left the bar, and it didn’t seem like he was going to be going anywhere fast in the morning. Plus, now Din had an easy in when he went back. 

Mind made up, he climbed silently out the way he came in and began the walk back to the ship. He was still hot, underlayers uncomfortably warm. Maybe the stupid hot sand planet was getting to him - he was going to have to spend an age polishing all this sand off when he was done with the job. He had landed on one of the outermost docking plots in an effort to be less conspicuous (again, not like the beskar was helping), so it took him a solid hour of walking before the Razor Crest came into view. Finally. 

And his ship was...shaking? 

_Osik_ , the kid. 

Tapping at his vambrace, Din opened the ship’s hatch. And yup, there was the screaming. He rushed in, scrambling up the ladder as fast as he could, towards the wails coming from the top of the ship, tapping frantically to unlock the compartment he had left the kid in earlier. All of his things that weren’t bolted to the floor were scattered around, shaking on the floor in time to the screams of the kid. As soon as he came up and into the child’s view the kid was lifting his arms in the _up_ gesture that Din was constantly the victim of. Din winced as he let out a particularly piercing screech. 

Din scooped him up, holding him against his chest plate ( _How_ that was comfortable was beyond him) and clumsily rocked him while trying to get the hatch closed again. The kid was quieting a little now, cries muffled by Din’s cowl, but he could still feel the weird dampness from the tears. 

“Ad’ika,” he whispered, trying to calm him, “ _Ad’ika_ , it’s okay, I’m here, _buir’s_ here.” 

The kid paused when he started speaking to listen, sobs changing into hitched breaths, but Din still felt his heart sink at the betrayed look the kid was giving him. The floor was only vibrating now. 

Holding him away from his chest for a second, Din said quietly, “Kid, I know you hate me going off – I know, _elek_? But we have to get credits somehow, and I can’t get work if I bring you everywhere with me.” 

The kid just cooed. 

“Okay, new plan. How about some food? _Me’copaani_ _kai’tome_? I think we still have some of that galoomp from Tatooine...” 

He had been trying to speak to the kid in Mando’a as much as he did Basic, but the kid didn’t show any signs of picking either language up yet. He seemed to respond to a _d’ika_ when Din called him and knew Din was _buir_ , but anything else seemed to be a lost cause right then. Din was left wondering whether he would ever see the foundling speak a word in his lifetime. Even if he lived a long life (a dangerous presumption in his profession), the kid would only be what – 6 years old in human development? 

Shaking off that train of thought, Din shuffled awkwardly to the kitchen, the kid still clutching to his breastplate. He yanked a lump of the galoomp meat from the freezer, covered it in some packaged sauce the kid seemed to like and set it in the microwave for a few minutes to defrost. He grabbed a ration bar out of the cupboard for himself. 

Food was sorted. Now the kid.... who was still clinging to Din like he was about to disintegrate. Slowly, Din attempted to pry one claw at a time off his chest plate and was rewarded with a spirited screech from the kid, who re-buried his head into Din’s shoulder. 

“Ad’ika. You need to eat. You can’t eat if both of your arms are full of beskar.” Din wasn’t sure why he was trying to reason with a baby. Again, the kid just cooed, perfectly content when Din wasn’t trying to move him from being carried. With a heartfelt sigh, Din resigned himself to the fact he likely wasn’t putting down the kid again until he went to sleep. 

The microwave beeped. 

Din fumbled slightly trying to get the meat out of it but managed to manoeuvre the kid, so he was resting more on his hip than his chest. He grabbed the bowl and set it down on the small table in the corner and sat down heavily in the chair. Glancing down at the womp-rat in his arms he sighed again. Looks like another night of him feeding the baby was coming. 

He grabbed a knife and fork and shifted the child again to be stood on his legs at the table, and cut the meat into small, baby-sized chunks. Then, attempting in vain to avoid a mess, he held a chunk up to the child’s mouth. 

“Come on ad’ika. I need to eat too, and the sooner you’re done, the sooner we can sleep,” The baby looked slightly woefully at him, then back at the food. Then, to Din’s relief, he made grabby hands towards the fork, and Din let him guide it towards his mouth. 

After he was done (without too much mess – a bit of sauce on Din’s armour was hardly a problem), the baby started to drift off quickly, eyes blinking slowly on Din’s lap. Din stood up carefully, trying not to jostle him, and walked over to the bed area. He had set up a cot next to his bed for the child and iron bolted it to the wall. The kid liked being able to see him when they slept, and it was much easier to keep him out of mischief if he was in eyesight all the time anyway. 

Din set the kid down, checking he was actually asleep, then breathed a sigh of relief. He was tired as hell too. He stepped towards the refresher, closed the door, and finally tugged off his helmet. He, unsurprisingly, looked like a sweaty mess. After grabbing a quick sonic shower, Din wolfed down the ration bar – _stupid_ _y_ _ai’yai_ _kai’tome_ _–_ and slipped on more comfortable clothes. He didn’t bother with the helmet; the kid was conked out, and even if he did wake up, it would force Din to finally adopt him. 

He really wasn’t sure why he hadn’t performed the _gai_ _bal_ _manda_ yet. 

Slipping under his blanket, Din tried to lull his whirring brain to sleep. Tomorrow was going to be long. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! Hope you enjoy this - i promise i will get to the sick bit next chapter, i'm just taking it slow rn.  
> Any comments/criticism/ideas greatly appreciated :) And yes, a galoomp IS a real creature in the Star Wars universe - https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Galoomp  
> \- Esher (they/them)
> 
> Mando'a Translations:  
> \- Shabuir: Extreme insult - *jerk*, but much stronger  
> \- Buir: Parent  
> \- Osik: Dung (impolite)  
> \- Ad'ika: Little one/child  
> \- Elek: Yes (understand?)  
> \- Me’copaani kai’tome?: Do you want some food?  
> \- Yai’yai kai’tome: Ration food (whatever terrible stuff Din is eating...)  
> \- Gai bal manda: Adoption ceremony, lit. name and soul


	3. Can I Please Get Back Inside? If I May

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go....not so great for Din

Din groaned slightly as he woke up, blinking gritty eyes. He stretched, joints popping in his shoulders and back, then closed his eyes again, feeling his head throb. 

He felt like shit. 

From the sounds of it, the child was waking up too, little snuffles coming from his crib. Alright. Breakfast, then out. Get off this planet. 

Breakfast was a quick affair, the kid strangely subdued as he tucked into some meiloorun fruit that Din cut up for him. Din scarfed another ration bar when he checked over his weapons, swallowing repeatedly to choke it down. Throwing it back up would help exactly no-one, come _on Din._ Setting the child down in his compartment, Din put a baby bottle of water, and another dish of meat out for the kid should he get hungry later. He’d be fine, right? 

Din bent over, catching the kid’s eyeline. 

“I need you to keep quiet today _ad’ika_ _._ I'll be back near noon, with a nice bounty to keep both of us fed, _lek_ ? I’ll be back, _suvarir_ _?”_ he said softly. The kid was looking damn near mournful. Stroking his back one more time, Din straightened back up and typed in the lock codes for the compartment . _The kid would be fine. This was fine. He needed to get a grip._ Ignoring the quiet cooing coming from the compartment, Din walked over to the hatch of the ship and grabbed his rifle , and an extra bottle of water – his throat was dry as hell today. Probably the sand, nothing to worry about. He just had to grab the contact, find the meet location, find the target. Get paid. _Stick to the plan._

*** 

It was only early morning on Altec but already the sun was beating down on the planet, glinting off Din’s helmet. He walked up the same way he had come the previous night to the contact’s house, banking on the guy being too hungover to have shifted since Din last saw him. By the time he got there, however, Din was sweating buckets, and his head felt like a balloon about to pop in his helmet. _Stupid sand planets_ _._ Luckily, not many people were about yet, early as it was, so there was no one to hear any particularly loud sighs Din may or may not be making. He shuffled up to the house the same way as the night before and slipped through the roof hatch. 

This time, he didn’t have to look for any heat signatures – he could hear the merchant just fine, retching in the refresher. Fine with Din, just as long as the _di’kut_ didn’t throw up on him (vomit smell took _forever_ to get out of leather boots). 

Din crept down the stairs, head still pounding, feeling like he had all the stealth of a bantha in a china shop. At least the merchant seemed to be too engrossed to notice any clinking of beskar. He saw what looked like a living room, walked across, and sat down heavily in one of the plush sofas the guy had in there. He would just wait here a second, for the merchant to come out – with any luck, he would be so hungover and intimidated that he basically interrogated himself. Wouldn’t be the first time. 

Sinking down into the cushions a little bit more, Din resisted the urge to rub his eyes tiredly. Everything _ached._

_If this contact could hurry the fuck_ _up_ _please_ _,_ _so I can get my damn money-_

On cue, the man stumbled around the corner. He didn’t seem to see Din, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other, but stilled suddenly. He stared straight at Din; eyes glazed. 

“What the _fuck_?!” he whispered-shouted, green-tinged cheeks going white. 

Din (who had definitely not closed his burning eyes for a little bit) shot up and grabbed the man by his throat to slam him into the wall. 

“Madhu Kovac. Your supplier. _Tell me_ _about them_ _."_ Din put an extra bit of shove into that last bit, the merchant’s eyes bugging out of his head at the force. 

“Holy fuck. Holy _fuck._ Okay. Okay- Uhm. What do you want to know? Just-just don’t hurt me, please?” The man shrank as far away from Din as possible, eyes flitting everywhere. 

Din rolled his eyes under the helmet. _Laandur_ _._

_“_ Where are you meeting them tonight? _When_ are you meeting them tonight?” 

The uncomfortable sweating was making a reappearance. His stomach was twisting dangerously too. _Just get through this._

_“_ Oh-kay, well, we usually meet just behind the port, they take me through some tunnels. We had a meeting for sunset tonight. I don’t know any more than that, I swear!” 

“How many guards do they have? What firepower?” 

_Haar’chak_. More stomach twisting. Din resisted the urge to cough. 

“Usually, they have three guards, two humans and a Zabrak. They carry...blasters, I think? Definitely knives...” 

Din was losing focus on what he was saying, the hand around the man’s throat relaxing minutely. He was sweating, and suddenly freezing, skin raised in goosebumps. He felt his stomach turn again – shit, _shit,_ ** _osik_** _–_ _what the fuck was wrong with him? Th_ _e man_ _is_ _still talking_ _Din LISTEN_ _,_ _atiniir_ _-_

 _“..._ but when they get a drop off usually there’s more - are you all right?” The man was trailing off. Din was hardly aware of it, trying desperately not to vomit in his helmet. His hand had slipped off the contact’s throat entirely, coming to rest loosely on his chest. He could hear harsh breaths coming through the modulator , his field of vision narrowing down to one thought - Don’t throw up _, don’t throw up,_ ** _don’t throw up -_ **

Too late. 

“Turn around! Turn the _fuck around!”_ he gasped, shoving the man by his shoulder into the wall. He didn’t need to hear the man spluttering, all that mattered was that he was facing the wall because Din was out of time. 

He ripped his helmet up, just far enough to expose his mouth – _too exposed_ _-_ and then he was retching. 

It was humiliating. He could only bring up ration bars, the rest was empty heaving with nothing to bring up but bile. His head swam. The moment he was sure nothing else was coming up he shoved the helmet back on and twisted back around. 

_Haar’chak_ _. H_ _e_ _had_ _got_ _ten_ _sick on his boots anyway._

_“_ Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to forget this ever happened. And if you breathe a word of this to anyone – _especially_ _Madhu Kovac –_ and this little bruise around your throat will be least of your problems, ‘ _lek_?” Din said harshly, leaning in close to the man’s ear, who’s face was still crushed against the wall. 

“Yeah. Okay. I get it, alright? Not a word. But are you, like, okay?” The man turned slightly, casting a disgusted glance at the puddle of vomit Din had left on his floor. 

Din slammed him around the head with his blaster. The man crumpled. 

Din staggered slightly, adrenaline giving way to the odd fatigue he had been feeling all day. What the hell had that been? 

Just stress. Stress, and too many ration bars. 

He was fine. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter up! I've got the next one written too, so you'll be seeing that on Sunday :)  
> Any comments/idea/critisicm welcomed!  
> \- Esher (they/them)
> 
> Mando'a Translations:  
> \- Ad'ika: Kid  
> \- 'Lek: Yeah  
> \- Suvarir: Understand?  
> \- Di'kut: Idiot  
> \- Laandur: Coward, soft  
> \- Haar'chak: Damn it  
> \- Osik: Shit  
> \- Atiniir: Endure  
> 


	4. Am I Sat in a Tin Can? Far Above the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, what the hell is wrong with Din?  
> (Some pretty nasty descriptions of a chest infection)

Leaving the merchant’s house, Din was feeling...a little better. He wasn’t sweating so much anymore, the odd turning in his stomach gone. Maybe the ration bars had gone off? He would have to check once he got back. 

The man had said the meeting tonight was at sunset, and it was approaching mid-morning now, giving Din a bit of time to kill in the _Crest._ He might even be able to play with the kid some – they still had some of the finger paints he had picked up in the Covert last time he had visited. 

The kid had loved it, giggling and screeching while smearing bright colours on every surface he could reach in the ship. It had been adorable until a bounty had laughed at the three-fingered bright pink print on the back of Din’s helmet. Cara called him a softie for that one. 

Throat sparking again, Din tried his best not to cough – it was always gross to get anything like that out of the helmet. He couldn’t stop it though. Once he started, he couldn’t seem to stop, throat feeling raw, tears pricking his eyes. He veered off the road and into an empty alley, and doubled over, feeling like he was coughing his lungs out. _Vomit on the boots, coughing in the helmet – what would Paz say now?_

It subsided slightly, leaving his breathing hoarse and ragged. He grabbed the bottle of water on his belt and shoved the straw that came with it in. Whoever invented straws was a _genius._ Had it been a Mandalorian? 

The water felt heavenly as it went down, smooth and soothing. Not quite cold – the planet was too hot for that, but just the thought of cold water made him want to hurry back to the Crest. Whatever this was, he could sort it there. 

The rest of the walk back, Din could feel the tickle growing again. He was nauseous again, feeling like something in his body was rebelling. But before long, the Crest was coming up on the horizon. Din gave a sigh of relief – the sun had reached its zenith now, and the burning heat was doing nothing to help his throbbing head or joints. Or the fact that he felt like he was cooking in his armour. 

Just dodgy food...right. 

Once he got in the ship, Din unlocked the child’s compartment, the slight worry for him ever-present. The kid was napping – some of the water was gone, and the kid was snoring gently. Perfect, that meant he had some time to sort himself out. Casting one last glance at the child’s sleeping form, Din headed towards the fresher to clean out the gunk in his helmet. 

Closing and locking the door, Din slipped off the helmet. He recoiled in disgust – the front was covered in green slime from his coughing – a much more vivid colour than he had expected. Grabbing a cloth, he wiped it out, and sprayed it down with anti-bacterial, then dried it out with another anti-bacterial wipe. It couldn’t hurt to be safe. Then, he grabbed his mirror and set it on the little shelf above his sink. 

Oh. So he didn’t just feel like shit. He _looked_ like shit too. 

His hair was a sweaty mess, and he was unsettlingly pale too. Eyes bloodshot. Din grabbed the penlight from his belt, flicked it on, and opened his mouth, shining the light inside. 

From what he could remember from his training, tonsils were the thing to look out for. White spots meant tonsilitis, red veins meant a bad cold or chest infection, and just swollen meant...a cold? 

Well, something was definitely wrong with him. His throat was swollen and red, and he could see how swollen the tonsils at the back were. 

A cold didn’t explain the chills he could feel all over his body or the nausea from earlier, but it was a start. Din coughed again, feeling an alarming tightness across his chest. He hacked, muscles spasming to work _something_ up, blood rushing to his head. 

Alright then. He just needed to get some of the cold meds from his medpack and he’d be fine. 

The medpack was in the fresher anyway, so he opened the cupboard and rummaged through. And found nothing. It was disturbingly sparse – just a few sad-looking bandages and some out-of-date bacta patches. No cold meds, no cough syrup, nothing. _Osik_ _._ Funds had been running low lately but he hadn’t realised it had gotten this bad. Suddenly, he was recalling the last conversation he had had with Paz, a little over a month ago. 

“ _The foundlings have_ ** _nothing_** _. Everything we owned – everything we loved is gone, Din! Half of them are sick; some kind of virus, and_ _we have nothing to help them with. It’s like we just have to watch them fade away.”_

And he’d given them everything he could spare. He’d even forced the kid to give up some of his precious toys for those foundlings. 

It had been worth it to receive a message two weeks after, saying that every child had recovered from the virus. 

Didn’t make this situation any better though. He was still dirt poor. 

He ended up making some _behot_ and sitting up in the cockpit, drawing up all the information he had on Madhu Kovac. They were a human (probably), and in their late 30s, with dark skin and blood-red hair. An up and coming arms dealer, Kovac was known for vicious attacks on anyone who dared to betray their operation and a liking for selling explosives to the Imperial remnant. They were going to be satisfying to bring in. 

Din coughed, shifting in his chair. Sweat was dripping down his forehead, and his eyes were burning. He closed them for a second, taking a deep breath – hitching in the middle, breaking into another coughing fit. _Just get through this._ He just needed to bring in Kovac, and then he would have some credits to buy some goddamn cold medicine so he could shift this. Not that he couldn’t deal with a little cold, but he was suddenly realising that it wasn’t feeling so...little. 

A cry abruptly echoed around the ship. The kid – he was probably hungry. Din ran through what they had left in his head; maybe a little more galoomp, a little more fruit – there might have been a ration pack too. 

He grabbed the kid and swept him up into his chest and repeated the same process as last night – sauce, meat, microwave. It couldn’t hurt if he had something substantial for once too; porridge did something truly disturbing to the kid’s insides, but the warmth could be good to soothe Din’s stomach. 

He ripped open a porridge sachet and boiled some water while the kid’s meat heated up. He was out of breath just standing to do this, forced to breathe from his mouth rather than his clogged-up nose. Once the water had boiled, he poured in the oats and spices ( _thank you_ _,_ _Paz_ _,_ _for the_ _hetikleyc_ _)_ _,_ and set both meals for him and the kid on the table. 

The kid actually sat in his chair for once and tucked into the meat with enthusiasm. Occasionally, he would offer a bit up to Din, with a questioning coo. For approval? 

“That’s still meat kid. And it’s yours. No, I – no I don’t want any, don’t - _ad’ika_ _stop shoving it on my viso_ _r.”_ Din grabbed the kid's hands and guided them back down to the bowl. His voice was so sore - he didn’t even need the helmet it to be crackly. 

The kid finished, and Din went back up to the cockpit with his porridge after putting him back in his play area. Without the helmet, it was a little easier for Din to breathe, but he was still worryingly short of breath. He managed about half of the porridge before the rolling in his stomach became too threatening again, but the spice cleared his sinuses a little, the taste of home helping him feel a little less grotty. 

He went back to the datapad, propping his feet up on the dashboard. If he just closed his eyes a second, he could stop them from burning...a little bit of rest couldn’t hurt. 

*** 

Din couldn’t breathe. 

He jerked awake, datapad clattering to the floor 

His chest – _osik_ _–_ it was so tight. He couldn’t draw a breath, he couldn’t move, he couldn’t - 

He was throwing up again. His nose burned with acid, adding to the sense of _wrong_ in his body. Fuck, was he falling? Disorientated, Din discovered that he had fallen off his chair at some point in this whole mess. His chest was heaving, trying to draw in any oxygen, but he just started to cough. And cough, and cough, and _cough._

Din brought a hand up to his mouth, trying to breathe a little more. 

Was that blood? 

Not good. 

And, _osik,_ did his chest hurt, like someone was driving a dagger into his lungs whenever he tried to draw a breath. Every time he coughed it felt like his entire insides were coming up, hot and pressured and so fucking tight. 

Dimly, Din realised that he was still on the floor. The coughing fit had faded, leaving him shivering and aching, head pounding. Blood from coughing...that was bad. That meant chest infection; pneumonia. That meant medical treatment, medicine, things he couldn’t afford to need. So he needed to do the job. Just do the job, and get the fucking money, and get some medicine. 

Slowly, he sat up, leaning against the wall. His head was spinning. Where was his helmet? Then, he dragged himself up to his feet, stubbornly ignoring the stab of pain like lightening through his chest. 

He would get Kovac – he should just take a stim and walk it off. Then some medicine. 

The job was supposed to be easy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all, hope you enjoyed. I'm currently tired af writing this so PLEASE tell me about any typos! also, sorry to Din for putting him through so much lmao. Ideas/criticism/any feedback welcome, as always :)  
> \- Esher (they/them)  
> Mando'a Translations:  
> \- Behot: Tea  
> \- Hetikleyc: Spicy, as in makes the sinuses burn

**Author's Note:**

> Hey yall, hope you enjoyed. Feedback/critiscm/random screaming is welcomed, especially as this is my first fic. (If anyone knows how you make text italic on this site i would be eternally grateful to know)
> 
> \- El (they/them)  
> Mando'a Translations:  
> Osik: Shit, offensive


End file.
